For the First Time
by casfics
Summary: After an awful shift in the ED and an argument, Alicia is more than down. She writes an article to combat her feelings of hopelessness, but is joined by an unexpected person . *set as continuation of S32, Ep22*


_I have grown tired of trying_

 _to keep your attention_

 _and fighting for your affection_

 _if I'm not enough to keep your heart still_

 _then I shall set you free_

 _if my love doesn't move you to tears_

 _then please let me be_

-x-

Alicia stares and the laptop screen stares back. She chews a nail, thoughtfully for a second. There is no erase button. It is in the abyss of the internet; out there forever.

He will see.

She wonders for a moment if that's a good thing, if that's what she wants. Writing everything down felt an opportunity to vent: if it wasn't possible to get things off her chest through speaking with colleagues, writing it would certainly allow her the acknowledgement she wants. On a personal level, but above that, for the patients. That is what matters.

The rain tinkles against the glass of the restaurant windows, steaming it as if it were a shower. Giving a listless sigh, she takes a tiny slice of cheesecake. In truth, she's over faced. When prompted to choose at the front of a busy queue twenty minutes earlier, she'd mumbled an expletive and ordered samples of everything. Impetuous behaviour cushioned by the thought that wouldn't be much to lose anyway. Worst case scenario: the sack. She scoffs again at the thought, nearly choking on a crumb. As if. Ethan won't. More importantly, he can't, even if he'd like to, with staff numbers being so thin on the ground.

The staff have evidently assumed there would be more than one person eating, and she can't fault them. Seeing two wine glasses sends a shiver up her spine, horribly mixing deja vu of months before. She takes a sip and her worst fears are confirmed. Her stomach lurches.

It is the same red. _That_ red.

Landing back on the floor, her eyes spot something. Two brown, patent brogues. Sensible shoes. Definitely not belonging to one of the young waiters. She doesn't need to look at the face to know.

'What are you doing here?' She glares.

'A little birdie told me that you'd promised your patient you would, and it's your sort of thing, and—'

'Great, we've established why I'm here, now answer my question. Why are you here?' She snaps, making no allowances for his attempt to be amicable.

He flinches slightly at the attitude before regaining composure. 'To see you.'

'Well, it'd be a first in ten months.'

She knows the remark will sting, and is quite glad about it.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair as soon as he sits down. 'It is clear you resent me for a number of reasons and that you have more to say. I'm all ears, if you want to—'

'I don't want a row,' she says quietly, closing the laptop. 'I never did. I can't just stand by and watch patients be put at such risk. We have people's lives in our hands, it's not the sort of job you can try to prioritise in. Everyone in there matters.'

'I know that.' He replies. 'I am trying. I'm new to this, and I need to learn.'

She buries her head in her hands in despair. 'You don't get it. While you're "learning", people are _dying,_ Ethan.'

He pauses, hurt. 'When you said earlier about nothing ever changing, did you mean about...'

For the first time, they lock eyes, managing to be both accusing yet forgiving all at the same time.

'Yeah.' Alicia says softly. 'Yeah, I meant us.'

'It doesn't have to be that way, but you clearly think there is no way out of this.'

She takes in his words, and they bubble up inside her. Of course it has to be that way. It is his fault entirely that they broke up. It feels like the worst gaslighting attempt — in no way is she responsible for the breakdown of their relationship. He can't even accept his share of the blame for how things ended so painfully in the summer.

Tears spill down her cheeks, hot, wet reminders of the turmoil. Furiously she wipes them away, but her body defies her, producing more and more until they smear the black and the trails are hued dark.

A waiter comes over, hovering, looking from her to him suspiciously. Alicia makes no secret about her heartbreak; sobbing long and hard and loud. People are starting to stare. It is like time freezes over, and all that she can think of is her grief. Her shoulders shake, body trembling with force.

Eventually, she rises from her chair and weaves in and out of the tables to the toilets, leaving him paralysed in the chair.

-x-

There is a crocodile of people queueing for the disabled toilet, many with toddlers attached by hand or on hip. It is odd that they're not going into the women's toilets. He brushes past them, uncaring, and soon realises why.

'Alicia,' he tries, voice ragged and tired.

No reply.

He bangs on the door until his knuckles redden, then slumps against it. 'Open up.'

'You can't be in here.' She says, voice thick with tears.

'Oh, can't I?'

He scales over the locked stall door with ease, landing on both feet in the cubicle. Her face is swollen: everything that should be pink is red, and makeup has dissolved under the tears but for the mascara. She rubs at her nose again with some toilet roll. Ethan thinks about how it may as well be sandpaper - it clearly reacts with her skin for the worse.

'I look a mess,' she sighs shakily, turning her back to him.

He chokes back his own emotion impressively, managing a small clear of the throat. 'You could never.'

'Kind of you, but seriously, I do look a state.'

'Not to me you don't.'

Her legs buckle beneath her and she falls against the toilet seat, defeated. 'I've really fucked things up today.'

'No,' he shakes his head. 'You have done your best in a situation where it was exceptionally difficult to. I ought to have supported you more. I never realised the extent of how you felt until I read the post.'

'You read—'

He pauses. 'I'm sorry. It was open on the page, I don't blame you, and—'

She snivels. 'I didn't mean the events of the day were my fault. I just mean that I could have handled things differently, so much better, I know it isn't your fault...'

'It was a very well written piece. I didn't know writing was a talent of yours.'

'I just thought I'd voice what I saw, I felt like I had to. I was fuming. Still am.'

'This day needs to be written off.' He says finally. 'Don't think for a single second that I stood there and felt happy about you breaking. I was mortified, Alicia. I felt crushed myself.'

'But still you did nothing,' she sighs, exhausted.

'I wanted to help, I just didn't know how. You've got to believe me. Seeing you hurt is up there with my least favourite things. I was angry at Bea. I feel like you were slapped because of her recklessness, and—'

'She's new, don't blame her. It could have happened to anyone.'

'It shouldn't have been you though.' He says regretfully. 'I told you off for not watching over her, but I should have been watching over you. And I haven't. Not for a long time. It makes me a hypocrite of the worst kind. You and I both know I ought to have protected you.'

'It isn't your job to look out for me. I was more concerned about the system.'

'I know you were,' he nods. 'That is where I should have stepped in. It wasn't your job to do everything, but yet you felt it was. I see things with more clarity now.'

'You've changed,' she mumbles evenly, leaving it open to interpretation as to whether this is a good or bad thing. She doesn't really know herself.

'I was blinded by grief, but in truth, grief is just love that remains unspent. I couldn't drag my brother back and offer him that love, I could have loved you instead, I _should_ have loved you instead, but I got it all wrong, so _so_ wrong.'

They are both quiet, contemplative. They are competing for space: it is confined and germ-ridden but the only chink of privacy in the moment. If they went back to either flat, things would certainly escalate to either shouting or sex or both. Though sometimes effective at diffusing tension, neither approach would suit the current situation.

'Where from here?' He asks, voice faltering.

'Preferably out the loos.'

It is a pitiful attempt at humour, yet they both laugh a little while she wipes her face with a tissue he's offered.

When the giggling subsides, he folds her into his arms and places his lips gently to her forehead, allowing the mood to shift. To secure, he places a hand on the small of her back.

'Climbing into the toilet cubicle is a new one for you, isn't it? I did think you'd take a more logical approach—'

'What were my options?' he chuckles. 'Climb over and bang it down and be charged with criminal damage? A conviction is the only thing that could make this whole sorry day worse. Plus, I'm an avid climber...'

She pulls away slightly, serious now. 'You could have left me.'

He gives a little nod, pained, as if understanding the inference with a bitter sense of guilt. 'I came to find you tonight because I never want to leave you again.'

Their lips brush together and it's heartbreaking, intimacy replaces oxygen, the tears mix until neither is sure what is theirs and what is not, but it doesn't matter, not really, _not at all._

Alicia recoils against the door with a sigh of relief, breath shuddery. He isn't as quick to let her go and closes back in, ready for round two.

He kisses her, she kisses him, and they barely stop to process the gasps and cries. A hand works its way up his shirt, undoing the buttons with frightening ease, but both know she could do it in her sleep. It comes to rest feebly upon the plane of his chest, causing both to cry a little more, at the sheer innocence and simplicity of the touch.

The focus is quickly diverted yet again, as his lips move to her neck. It is graceful, courteous yet aggressive for a man who takes pride in his carefulness. It is as if everything learnt previously dissipates, melts away, the longer they are in the moment. She lets out a low moan, which he mirrors, and her arm flies out to clutch the toilet door for support.

'Germs, germs,' he mutters, yanking her arm away.

'Worry too much, you do.'

He kisses her. 'And if I didn't...'

'You wouldn't be you. God, I've bloody missed that nagging.'

'Better not be sarcasm,' he says, frowning a little, leaning towards her.

'If I say it is, do I get more?'

They kiss again.

'Do you remember that red we bought? The one you called woody and I called juice?' She asks.

'I do. I didn't think you'd rem—that was the very first time, wasn't it?'

'They serve it here. It's as if life is cyclical on purpose. I felt like vomiting when it was first put on the table. It's not even that popular, but the coincidence seemed like it was out to get me. They even put two glasses on the table.'

'The Alicia I know would've necked them both without paying it much further thought.'

'Well, she's changed,' she whispers. 'She saw the two glasses and wondered why on earth she was sitting there alone.'

'But, a year without men, didn't you say?' He asks.

'How do you know about that?'

He shrugs casually, a bid to disguise his nervousness. 'I overheard Louise gossiping a while back.'

'I said a year without men _or_ booze.' She says, thinking a little.

She is still unhappy, demoralised, but leaving the premises without the wine or the man would not solve any problems. It is now a question of values: either stay true to convictions and do herself a disservice, or go back on what she said months ago and feel full once more.

'So?' He asks, prompting her, sleeve hovering over the lock comically to open it without having to actually touch the germs.

For a second she glances at him, taking it all in. His mousy hair is tousled, stubble patchy and growing back (he won't have had time to shave). Glasses are askew and tie is plain wonky, but there are no creases in his shirt or suit. Predictably, he is as pristine as ever before — even though he's just hooked up in a toilet, for God's sake. A presence strong, dependable, wavered by nothing but the woman that stands before him. Creases are knitted into his brow and he chews his lip, eyes wide and waiting.

Her own eyes blink shut, for this is the last deciding second.

They open and nothing has changed.

Evening sunlight filters through the window at the top of the toilet, casting light shadows against the door. Though every last expression of his is etched into her memory, nothing comes close to the way he looks now. The golden rays age him, ripen the last little dimple in his cheek. The green flecks in his eyes now dance. She finally knows. She has known all along.

'Come on,' she says softly, own eyes twinkling. 'Let's go drink that wine.'


End file.
